The Injury

Yelawolf gets hurt and Eminem tries to heal him.

“I don't think you realize what you mean to me

not the slightest clue

cause me and you were like a crew

I was like your sidekick

you gon either wanna fight me when I get off this f*****g mic

or you gon hug me

but I'm not an option, there's nothing else I can do”

-          “I Need a Doctor”, Dr. Dre featuring Eminem and Skylar Grey

 

I swung on my childhood swings this morning. The ones by the park on the edge of town that I hadn’t been on in years. I don’t particularly know what drove me there; I mean I could’ve done anything else that made me smile. It’s not every day I get to relax and unwind, but perhaps this day was a blessing. I arrived at the park fairly early, the birds chirping softly to wake up the closed flower buds and awaken a waterfall of nine to fivers. There was not a happy child nor an adoring family there, just me. I drank in the unfamiliar peace, feeling a bit uneasy by the quiet. When you are surrounded by so much noise all of the time, the silence is deafening. The sun was surrounded by clouds that circled it, but didn’t cover it. I was wearing a T-shirt and cargos that blended cotton and cool air to make sure I didn’t sweat myself out, a kind gesture that I had never received by another human being. I climbed aboard the metal swing that was always mine, and it squeaked from years of uncomfortable rust. My feet didn’t touch the grass beneath me- years of earthly erosion doing it wrong. I was left to my own devices and pushed. I pushed at the air with my legs to gain an inhuman power, frustrated that I had to do it all on my own. It was a rather selfish feeling, very entitled, but for once I just wanted something to go my way. So I pushed harder with the anger, going higher and higher into the abyss of the warm morning. It took me a moment to realize that I was crying, sinking into a height that I had never seen before. I took a deep breath and found the air quite nourishing, realizing where my anger had taken me. I wanted to break free of the squeaking metal and fly, just fly to you and be with you, but I couldn’t. So I stopped pushing. I fell back to the earth slowly. When I came to a halt, my tears were gone. And as the seagulls laughed at me from the roof of a shack nearby, I realized that nothing goes exactly the way you planned it. Nothing ever goes the way you want it to because there are too many outside forces preventing that. And I can’t change it. I don’t even know if I want to change it. All I really know is that I just want to be with you, and I miss you more every day. I miss you like I miss my childhood swings.

 

I don’t particularly know what drove me there, but it must’ve been you.

 

~*~*~

 

Yela doesn’t know where it all went wrong. The stage was sleek and black, dirtied with scuff marks from his ADIDAS. He thought he was doing a great job, riling up the crowd with his 808’s and Beastie Boys renditions, but apparently he was doing it a little too well. He had crowd surfed before and nothing had ever really injured him, but one head and one colliding abdomen made way for a tragic incident that changed his life forever.

 

He feels woozy, circling his head in gradual movements and seeing everything from his first bike ride to his first car. He sees his mother, crying but smiling in a foggy haze and the faint sound of steady beeps.

 

“Oh, thank God!” his mother cries in a voice he forgot could be so meek. He wants to greet her but it seems as if his body is too exhausted to do much of anything. She senses this like any mother would and strokes a hand through his hair, shushing him. “Relax, sweetie. Just rest.”

 

Yela wants to ask what happened, why every part of his body hurts, and if he’s dead or not. His eyes feel swollen and he’s looking at the world through red, black, and blue fog. He hopes that he’s dreaming and just lying on his side wrong, because it’s burning like a fire to dry leaves.

 

While his mother continues to stroke his hair he takes painful breaths, trying to remember what happened. The ceiling is white with his preoccupying thoughts.

 

Stage diving. Kid’s head. Side. Crippling pain.

 

Something broke. Something’s bleeding. He’s in the hospital.

 

His mother’s hand is so comforting and soft that he drifts off to sleep, feeling his head pounding and his side aching. Everything is black for a moment, and then he’s flying again, drifting through a cool breeze in an unfamiliar setting. It’s cold and condensed, frightening but calm. He’s falling onto a bridge very old and plain- not rusted in light of the dream state. It’s a slow fall, yet when he’s about to make an impact he hits the ground harshly. He’s in pain- on his side still- when he hears wind chimes and pianos faintly in the air. Light blue guardrails are within his line of vision, and with his head planted on its side roughly scraping the concrete road, he feels compelled to approach them. As the thought hits him, the instruments get louder and more scrambled.

 

For some reason he can’t seem to stand up straight, the blood leaving his legs and hitting his head full force. There are no cars around, just him and the noise of busted wind chimes and out of tune pianos. With his vision blurred, he walks unbalanced to the tall guardrails- more so turquoise than blue now. Roughly he hears his name being called.

 

He walks faster.

 

Not because he wants to see who it is, and not because he wants to see what’s wrong, but because he knows the voice.

 

He trips when he gets to the edge of the bridge, for whatever reason, and he breathes quickly when he looks over the bridge. Both the voice and the music get louder.

 

“Michael…”

 

He shuts his eyes, afraid of what he might find. But he needs to see, needs to know, so he opens them. His vision is still blurred, but when he squints, he finds Marshall deep within the water facing him.

 

A brush of wind hits his face again and the music stops.

 

“Michael!”

 

It’s not Marshall this time, but his mother. He’s not on a bridge, he’s outside the hospital. He’s not looking above water, but grass. It’s not a guardrail, it’s a street lamp. The only thing the same is the wind. He tries to blame it for his tears, and he may be right.

 

“Michael, oh my God…” His mother sounds like wind chimes. He needs to go home.

 

All that’s real to me is Marilyn and Jesus, jumping off of bridges, sparklers and streamers honey…

 

~*~*~

 

Marshall isn’t all too surprised when he finds out that Yela got hurt; it’s how badly he got hurt and why that really stuns him. Despite himself, he starts tearing up, feeling for his signee. Paul is shocked, never knowing how to deal with Shady tears.

 

“He’s gonna haveta cancel a couple of shows, postpone them, and rest for a while before he gets back on the road,” Paul says professionally. Marshall tries to process all of this, not even knowing where the spleen is in the human body. It gives him a look at how stupid he really is, not even understanding his friend’s injury. He feels Michael’s lips on his again, soft and delicate but dirtied with liquor and he thinks about the bond he’s about to form.

 

“What hospital is he in?”

 

~*~*~

 

Yela hasn’t had a beard in a while. He thinks he looks good with it, even if it’s just irritating scruff right now. FeFe came to visit him at the hospital a couple of times, bringing him Ramen noodles and balloons from fans. He thought the gesture was sweet, but FeFe kind of figured that their relationship would never grow into more than friends. Besides, Marshall is visiting.

 

Yela needs to make sure he looks good for his boss. After the mishap from a couple of weeks ago, Yela was determined to make a good tenth impression. No alcohol was allowed in here, so Yela was definitely sober. Yela is healthy enough to see Marshall, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t keep a conversation. It’s just hard to keep calm, thinking about the way his boss’ lips felt against his and how beautiful he looked- even crying.

 

But Yela isn’t going to be an a*s this time. He’s going to be good and cool. He isn’t going to bring up anything that would make Marshall upset. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Marshall will find him worthy enough of another kiss.

 

“Mr. Atha, you have a visitor.” His nurse is a darling, very old and timid. Her blonde hair glowed in the light from the fluorescent lamp, and she smiled with each step.

 

“Thank you,” he says, getting butterflies thinking about seeing Marshall.

 

The first thing he sees are Nike AirMaxes popping out from underneath the curtain. He starts smiling, waiting for his boss to come through like Superman but it never happens. Instead, Marshall paces around without a noise but the clicks of his shoes and Michael gets more nervous and upset by the moment. He hears a sigh, and Marshall slowly parts the curtain and enters.

 

Michael has never really focused much on Marshall’s hands. They’re so nimble and long, wrinkled and aged. You can see each bone and each joint, some veins popping through the skin as well. However, they’re so small and intricate, like a child’s hands. They’re just so lovely and genuine, and Michael faintly remembers holding those hands. He will never take a piece of Marshall for granted again, because most likely it was his drinking that made it impossible for him to pint out such a small and beautiful detail. He loves Marshall’s hands.

 

“Hey,” his boss says quietly. Michael looks up, those hands trapped in the rapper’s pants’ pockets, and he sees Marshall’s eyes. They’re sad and worried, which makes them look like a sky blue. Another thing that Michael started noticing was how his eyes seemed to change color every moment. One day they would be a dark grey with a blue tint, the next sapphires, and the next a soft rain water. Michael hasn’t said a word, and Marshall is a little worried. “You okay?” Michael’s eyes go wide, and he’s a little embarrassed for staring so long.

 

“Oh, um…yeah. I think I’ll be able ta get outta here soon,” he says quietly. Marshall awkwardly stands, looking around the small, pale room and digging for lint in his pockets. As a last minute resort, and mostly because his back hurts, he sits down on the bed Michael’s resting on soundlessly.

 

“So, how you feelin’ now?” Marshall asks, looking at the bearded man. He actually looks quite cute at the moment, he thinks. Marshall smiles.

 

“Pretty nervous, actually,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He combed it just for Marshall.

 

“Why?” Marshall asks, not being able to help a smile. Michael bites his lip.

 

“’Cause o’ you,” he says vaguely. Marshall waits for him to continue, expecting a proper explanation. “Well, I felt like I needed to…impress you.” Michael squints his eyes at the word, like trying to study its significance in mid-air. He wonders how Marshall feels about that word.

 

“Why…why would you wanna impress me?” Marshall asks, confused. His right eye twitches.

 

One more thing that Michael notices. Marshall has done it during almost every conversation that they’ve had. Whenever Marshall finishes a statement or thinks about something- nervous or confused as it may seem to him- his right eye kind of dances. His eyelashes fall over his cheek like a curtain, and them they’re back up again. Marshall has never really discussed it, in fact he may not even know that he does it, but Michael wonders how it happened and why. It can’t just be a quirk.

 

“I don’t know. It’s just because o’ last week, I guess. I didn’t exactly leave you wit pleasant mem’ries…” Michael explains, not looking at his boss. Marshall ponders this, them smiles, looking down at the floor.

 

“Well, ya did leave me wit one,” Marshall says jokingly. Michael picks up on it immediately and blushes madly.

 

“Oh yeah?” Michael asks. He guesses that they’re flirting, but he doesn’t comment on it.

 

Marshall wonders how he’s going to get out of this one, but it’s damn near impossible with Michael looking so handsome and sober. He wants to know what’s it’s like to have a passionate, alcohol-free kiss from this man.

 

But James…

 

“Marshall, get over here,” Michael demands. He’s relatively immobile, every move he makes a challenge. He’s in less pain today than he was over the span of the week, but every muscle still aches. Marshall’s hesitant to obey, afraid of hurting him but finding the moment too intimate as well.

 

When Marshall does sit closer to Michael, his heart is pounding. He seeks to lighten the moment but is unsure how, finding a scattered thought to string into their confusing fabric of a conversation.

 

“I cried when I found out,” Marshall confesses. Michael looks at him with the most endearing gaze wrapped in green eyes. He remembers the first day they met, and smiles.

 

“I’m not worth cryin’ over,” Michael says, sad himself. Marshall feels a knot in his chest and is devastatingly afraid of the feelings coming over him. His heart still belongs to James, but it’s the most honest and pure things Michael has ever said and Marshall can’t help falling in love all over again and with the wrong person.

 

God took away Ronnie. And Proof. And James. But he could’ve taken Michael today and he didn’t.

 

So Marshall leans in and kisses Michael, surprising the younger man out of his wits. Marshall can taste toothpaste and gum, but not a string of alcohol. He can’t get enough of the man and slides his tongue inside, feeling delight overcoming him. Michael swallows a moan but holy s**t Marshall is kissing him and not pulling away.

 

They only stop when the nurse walks in.

 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she says, blushing. Marshall blushes too, looking away and getting off the bed, not straying too far. Michael laughs.

 

“It’s okay, Anne.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to say that visiting hours are over for now,” Anne says sweetly. Marshall looks at the younger man sadly, saying goodbye with his eyes. Michael grins.

 

And just when Marshall is about to walk away, Michael stops him.

 

“I love you, Marshall…an’ I mean that,” he says. But Marshall leaves without saying it back.

 

~*~*~

 

He’s hurt, but I think he’s going to be okay. I can’t be sure, but he says he’s fine. I’m just thinking about how bizarre the whole thing is, really. The whole situation screamed “déjà vu”. I remember visiting Proof at the hospital when he was shot. And I remember visiting you in the hospital too. To be perfectly honest, I wish that your situation was like Proof’s, or even Ronnie’s. He died almost right away; he felt no pain. You did, though…and for a long time before you passed. All in all, I never wanted wither of you to die, but it was the circumstances that makes me wonder about Michael. I know that you didn’t like him very much, but he’s a good kid. I think this situation made him grow a little, like what I went through after my overdose. I can’t say that he’ll never drink again, but he’ll probably drink a lot less. The first time he kissed me, I was disgusted. He looked like Blake; it was so horrible. But after today, he kissed like you. He looked so sweet and vulnerable. But, he told me he loved me. I don’t know what to think about that. I know that I still love you and I will forever, but I wonder if maybe I have enough room in my heart for both of you. I’m just afraid.

 

The weird thing is, I don’t know why. Maybe I do, but I just don’t want to admit to it

 

~*~*~

 

Michael’s all better now, but his fans aren’t. He’s more upset with himself than anything else. In a way, his pain was probably a punishment (or representation) for the sadness of his fans. He had to postpone so many shows and even cancel some, which he wasn’t happy about. There were a few shows in Canada that he couldn’t do because of the border restrictions, and he doesn’t think he’ll be allowed in there any time soon.

 

It just sucks because he can’t live without performing. He feels like a bug inside of a house, flying around a light source and trying to find a way out as people swat at him. He hasn’t drank at all surprisingly, consumed with medication that orders you don’t take alcohol with it and his bond with Marshall. He’s absolutely in love and doesn’t want to blow this chance with him. He has so many songs and so little time.

 

He’s bobbing around his kitchen, getting himself a yogurt. It’s around ten thirty, a time where he would usually be asleep and sobering up on a Saturday morning. He’s humming a random Johnny Cash song that he forgot the name of and which some lyrics escape him. Everything is relatively normal in his life at this point, but then there’s a knock at the door.

 

He’s got a plastic spoon in his mouth when the sound hits him, surprising him out of his normalcy. He isn’t expecting any company, but he prays that it’s the man he wants to see. A gradual walk and a peek through the peep-hole later and he swings the door open, coming face to face with his love. The spoon was thankfully tossed aside, because otherwise it would’ve fallen out of his mouth. His boss smiles at him, not saying a word and decorated in white garments from head to toe. His eyes are wondrous, like the turquoise of a Caribbean ocean.

 

“Hey, Yela,” he says softly. “Ya busy?” Michael takes a second before he replies, mystified by the man.

 

“Ugh…nah. Pretty bored actually…concerts cancelled,” he remarks, letting the older man into his home.

 

“Oh, that’s too bad. Getting’ some rest though I hope?” Marshall asks, examining his home. Michael can’t help but check out his boss’ a*s when he walks around.

 

“Ugh, yeah…been writin’ a lot too,” he says, trying to break the ice. Marshall mumbles something unintelligible, and his eyes dart to the countertop of the kitchen.

 

“Ooh, yogurt! Can I have some?” and he grins happily at Michael, looking like he’s five years old. Michael squints at him, smiling skeptically at him.

 

“You’re so cute…” he says. Marshall, completely surprised by the compliment, blushes madly. “Why exactly are you here, Marshall?” Michael asks.

 

The older man looks at his signee with a determined gaze, but turns his head away quickly, blushing again. He can feel embarrassment coursing through his body just thinking about what he had in mind. Michael chuckles, walking over to his boss as if he can read his mind.

 

He places a hand on Marshall’s left cheek, pulling his face towards him. With a single smile Michael manages to make the older man feel weak in the knees. He smiles at him.

 

Without a word, Michael leans down and presses his lips to Marshall’s, feeling so alive by the situation. Kissing Marshall was better than any drink in this world.

 

Marshall’s body is screaming with delight, a power he doesn’t recognize possessing him. He needs more of it; craves it. He opens his mouth to get more feeling, grabbing onto Michael’s jacket and pushing it off his shoulders violently. Michael is surprised at his boss’ ferocity, but even more so about the fact that he and his love are about to eclipse their friendship.

 

So Michael decides to add to the process and pulls off Marshall’s white sweatshirt. The older man moans and an excitement fills him. Before he knows it his pants are around his ankles and so are Michael’s; what’s funny is that he couldn’t even remember pulling them off.

 

“Let’s get ta bed,” Michael whispers into the older man’s lips. Little does Marshall know, Michael is nervous as all hell. He’s not exactly equipped in this department.

 

The bed is just a few feet away so, Marshall moving backwards, they trip over their pants as they walk. This feeling coming over Marshall is indescribable and quite frightening. The last time he had a quickie he was criticized by the same man he’s about to have sex with now.

 

Marshall falls on the bed backwards with a grunt, and Michael drapes over him like a pleasant waterfall. Michael is so warm and tall that Marshall can’t help but run his hands beneath his lover’s shirt and become another art piece on the younger man’s body. Michael was hesitant to break their kiss, but with a smile and a smoking gaze he removes his shirt. The sun is pouring through the window and hitting Michael’s face and body at a perfect angle, capturing the man in a beautiful photograph. Marshall blinks.

 

It’s times like these where he’s uncomfortable with his appearance. He’s always had issues with his body and his weight, not to mention his age. Michael is young, toned, and fit and he’s flabby, old, and unappealing. When the younger man goes to kiss his cheek and tries to pull off his shirt, Marshall stops him.

 

“Um, let’s leave this on, okay?” he pleas in a whisper. Michael is taken aback but agrees wordlessly.

 

The last things to go are their underwear, but they don’t hesitate to rub themselves together. Sighing, Marshall finally starts to get hard, another clear reminder of how old he is. When they finally do remove their last threads of clothing, Marshall is surprised by the man’s length. It’s the second largest he’s ever seen, next to…well, Marshall doesn’t exactly want to think about that right now.

 

Michael is in a state of shock, unaware of what to do; so Marshall happily takes the reins and flips them over, giggling at the man’s ignorance. Michael smiles through another kiss, and Marshall looks around for any lotion. Luckily there’s a whole bottle on the nightstand and Marshall retrieves it, quickly squirting some in his hand and going to work.

 

Sitting across his mid-section and staring into his eyes, Marshall leans back his hand and strokes up and down, grinning when the younger man moans at the contact. Soon Michael is lubed up and ready to go, taking even and nervous breaths. Marshall flutters his eyelashes like an innocent schoolgirl and directs the head towards his hole.

 

Marshall feels like it could go on forever. When he finally bottoms out he closes his eyes and sighs, surprised at how good it feels. Michael is consumed with pleasure and love, feeling something he had never felt before: passion.

 

“Oh, Marshall,” Michael moans and the older man smiles from above. He gently starts rocking himself over the man’s c**k, gasping every time it hits a particularly delicious spot inside of him. Resting his hands on the man’s chest, Marshall slides on and off the organ inside him, driving Michael crazy. He shuts his eyes closed and puts his hands on Marshall’s hips, guiding the man’s swift strokes. Marshall gasps and sighs, feeling himself getting hotter and hotter.

 

Marshall leans down kisses Michael passionately, feeling his c**k hitting another amazing spot inside him. With a sharp bite to Michael’s lips, Marshall orgasms unexpectedly. He moans repeatedly and his face is flushed; Michael is shocked by the sensation and with fierce thrusts he follows suit with his own orgasm, pouring his love inside of Marshall.

 

Marshall lays his head on Michael’s chest, exhausted. Michael is vibrating from his release, excited beyond belief that finally, Marshall is his. Marshall closes his eyes, feeling the sun beating down on his body.

 

~*~*~

 

I’m afraid, James. I’m afraid that my childhood is over. I’m afraid of reality. I’m afraid of everything.

 

Absolutely everything.

 

P.S. I need you.

 

“Can't really blame ya for bugging

Ain't I the dirt on your rug

And just a place to wipe your shoes

And give me all your thrown away loving

Back to my buzzing and drugging

Back to my gutter with nothing

Back to the all of a sudden cracks

In the covenant trust in me”

-          “Love Is Not Enough”, Yelawolf

Author's Note

I apologize for not posting this yesterday, I just started school so please forgive me. And also I'm sorry if the sex scene seemed a little rushed, I'm not really good at writing porn.